


The Negroni

by TheRedheadinQuestion



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romantic Fluff, do not copy to another site, mystrade, pandemic fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:29:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23776135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedheadinQuestion/pseuds/TheRedheadinQuestion
Summary: Weeks into the lockdown, Mycroft makes Greg a cocktail.
Relationships: Mycroft - Relationship, Mycroft Holmes & Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Lestrade
Comments: 4
Kudos: 67





	The Negroni

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Stanley Tucci's cocktail making. As I watched it, I instantly thought of a bearded Mycroft crafting a cocktail for Greg. 
> 
> This just sort of happened.

As Greg emerges from the shower, he hears the faint strains of jazz filtering in from downstairs. Memories hit him like a lorry, and he steadies himself with a deep breath. It seems forever ago, the times when Myc listened to jazz as he cooked, and evenings were spent flirting over cocktails and homemade pasta. Then the pandemic hit, and in the flurry of lockdown, of stress and worry and Mycroft’s increasingly frustrating virtual meetings, romance fell away, like so many other parts of their life.

Evidently, it was time to reclaim one piece of normality.

Greg forgoes his sweatpants and reaches for a certain snug pair of outrageously expensive jeans. The pair Mycroft bought and declared as ‘frankly, the only ones that adequately display your spectacular arse.’ He adds the crisp black button down he hasn’t worn since February, and black suede ankle boots, which feel a bit stiff after weeks of nothing but socked feet or trainers.

His wedding ring sparkles in the ensuite lights as he works product through his hair, reminding him—as if he needed reminding—what a lucky sod he is. Greg adds a touch of the cologne Mycroft gave him for his birthday and surveys the results in the mirror. He remembers this guy, the one who loves to travel and experience new places, new restaurants, and old history with the love of his life. He’s missed this guy. 

Greg makes his way down the stairs and follows the jazz into their large, open kitchen. Mycroft stands at the far end, in front of their small bar, selecting bottles from their growing collection of liquor. Mycroft insisted on adding the bar when they renovated the kitchen, and Greg’s been glad for it a thousand times over. At the sound of of Greg’s footsteps, he turns and looks his husband up and down appreciatively. Greg does the same. 

While Greg’s lockdown uniform had gradually degraded from jeans to old jeans to sweatpants, Mycroft remained in his suits. He did, after all, still have a country to run.

But this outfit…it takes Greg’s breath away. Mycroft has chosen one of the casual outfits reserved for their holidays and long weekends far away from London. Slim black chinos. The snug black polo that clings to his freckled biceps in the most erotic way. And even a belt. He was, after all, still Mycroft Holmes-Lestrade.

“Care for a cocktail, my dear?” Mycroft’s eyes gleam in the soft light, somehow making his red beard appear even redder. Greg’s insides nearly melt. His husband’s interest in crafting cocktails was a skill few were privy to, and even fewer benefited from. Before Mycroft, Greg had been more of an ale man, but now he was a firm aficionado of cocktails. And if they were made by his husband? Pure foreplay.

“Always.” Greg says. “What’re you making me tonight, Gorgeous?”

“I find myself in the mood for a Negroni. Would you care for one?”

“I’d love one.” A thought occurs to Greg, and he can’t resist. “As long as you walk me through it.”

Mycroft gives him a low, smoldering look that says he knows exactly what his husband is up to. “We’re going to prepare this Negroni up.” He begins with a slow lick of his lower lip. “Most people opt for on the rocks, but I think it’s lovely up.”

“We’ll begin with a fair amount of ice.” Mycroft ignores the ice tongs in favor of his long, nimble fingers, and it goes straight to Greg’s cock. “As you see, we’re doing this in the most hygienic way possible.” 

Mycroft’s smolder increases, and he reaches for the jigger. “To the ice we’ll add a double shot of gin. If one doesn’t care for gin, vodka will do. In that circumstance I’d suggest one lace it with a bit of gin, to give it that nudge of flavor.” He empties the jigger into the shaker and adds an extra splash for good measure.

“That’s a double shot in this house.” He says with a wink, in that low voice Greg adores, and Greg nearly has to adjust himself.

“Next we’ll add a shot of sweet vermouth, but make sure you use a good sweet vermouth.” He measures the shot and pours it into the shaker. “One should never use inferior brands.” He makes a face and gives a finger wag. “Not good.”

“And then…a single shot of campari.” He measures and pours it in. “It’s a simple recipe. Simple, but effective.” He raises an eyebrow. “As the best things are.”

This time Greg does have to adjust himself, and he bites his lip to suppress a moan. Mycroft places the lid on the shaker and presses it firmly into place. He shakes it while gazing at Greg with a look that speaks volumes.

“You elegant bastard.” Greg murmurs.

After several long seconds, Mycroft concludes the shaking and removes the cap. “As I said, some prefer it on the rocks, but I really do prefer it up.”

“Now.” He removes a crystal glass from the large selection on the shelf. “We can place it in a coupe like this, or a martini glass.” He pulls down a martini glass and displays it briefly before placing it back. “Or whatever glass you desire. Personally, I’m fond of it in a coupe.”

Mycroft pours, and Greg’s mouth practically waters as the delicate glass fills with the dark coral liquid.

“We’ll want to garnish with orange.” Mycroft retrieves a small bowl and removes a half-moon slice. “This is actually the way we buy our oranges.” He glances at Greg from beneath his eyelashes. “That’s not true at all. They come from Florida this way--it’s most incredible.” He places the bowl back on the counter.

“You’ll want to gently add a bit of the juice, like so.” Mycroft holds the slice over the coupe and carefully gives it a squeeze. “But never let anyone see you handle it in this manner.” He places the orange slice on top of the drink’s surface and picks up the finished cocktail.

“Here we are, and that’s that.” Mycroft indulges in a test sip and Greg finds he can’t control himself any longer. He slides his arms around his husband’s waist and leans in. Mycroft’s kiss is cold and his mouth tastes of the finest Negroni ever crafted. Greg groans and slides to knees.

“You won’t be able to hold it while doing that.” He takes another sip and looks down at Greg with a wicked grin. “How terrible for you.”

“Oh you’ll make me another.” Greg says as he nuzzles Mycroft’s hard cock through his chinos. After all, cocktails can wait. 

Making love to his husband can’t.


End file.
